


No One Could Blame You For Walking Away

by china_shop, mergatrude



Series: Vehicle Deck series [3]
Category: Canadian Actor RPF, Fandom RPF, Hard Core Logo (1996), due South
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Fic, Llamas, M/M, Mary Sue, Meta, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-08
Updated: 2006-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mergatrude/pseuds/mergatrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've been putting off rescuing the llama as long as I can, trying to convince you that's she's not missing, I've just internalised her. But I can't avoid the vehicle deck any longer. It's not just Albuquerque anymore. You're down there, apparently under some kind of spell, and I have to stop you before you vanish completely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One Could Blame You For Walking Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mergatrude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mergatrude/gifts).



> Uh, okay. So this is for all the people at get__together '06, plus there's a scene in here that's especially for helleboredoll (though not _exactly_ what she asked for). But mostly it's for mergatrude, who started it, because I missed you last week and I'm sorry to have left the llama in limbo for so long.
> 
> With grateful thanks to sageness for sanity check, insta-beta, and for suggesting the ending.
> 
> This follows on from [the one where aliens made us do it (not with each other) and the llama is lost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/132659) and [the one where Diefenbaker goes below deck](http://archiveofourown.org/works/132661). It may make more sense in context; no guarantees.
> 
> Contains references to Wilby Wonderful, Battlestar Galactica, Stargate Atlantis, Labyrinth and Supernatural.

## PART 1 BY MERGATRUDE

There's a masquerade ball tonight. It's a huge gala, an annual event and everyone is here, or almost.

Fraser is in dress uniform, even though Ray explained earlier that the point of a masquerade ball is that no one knows who you are. And although Ray chided Fraser for wearing his uniform, he was unable to resist carefully spiking his hair, and so is easily recognisable despite the satin frock-coat and the mask. The fact that he's in a corner making out with a Mountie is a bit of a giveaway as well.

Due to the gender bias of the guests, there are a lot of men dancing with men. I can't help thinking you'd enjoy it.

There may be a tango. (Maybe a dutiful one?)

_Is Dief at the ball? Are you dressed to the nines? ___

He is, although he is hanging round the buffet tables. I have spent an inordinate amount of time looking for a dress, before settling on this: [c. early 1920's Deco Electric Blue Beaded and Sequin Flapper Overdress! Likely Made in Paris or Belgium!](http://www.antiquedress.com/item4764.htm), with a Louise Brookes wig. The heels are awkward and I'm out of practice.

Luckily, every time I rematerialise on the cruiseliner, I lose 8 kilos!

I'm looking vainly for you everywhere, feeling silly and overdressed and in need of moral support. But through a spectacular piece of miscommunication, we've had a rift. As a result, you announce that you hate throngs (which I knew; I should have realised you'd never go, but we've done a heap of things we'd never normally do on this ship) and have no intention of attending the ball. You've locked yourself in the library where you are obliviously reading your way through a finely-tuned selection of Fraser/Vecchio fanfiction (Pares, Laura Shapiro, Basingstoke).

_I'd send the llama to keep you company, but she's still AWOL... ___

The llama is missing. I have an inordinate amount of emotional composure tied up in that animal. Feeling sad and a little lost, I turn towards a set of french doors but manage to trip over my high heels.

Callum appears and gives me a hand up, glinting at me flirtatiously. I blush furiously, still not having regained my equilibrium with him after the incident with the aliens.

Hugh is watching. He narrows his eyes.

Does he know? Will Hugh forgive Callum if he knows that aliens made us do it? Why am I feeling so tortured about this? This is stupid. It's not as if it's really Callum - he's still that strange conglomeration of CallumRay. But Hugh is scary. I'm afraid of him. I think everyone is afraid of him... Well, maybe not Fraser. Possibly not Ray, but that could be a posture.

This whole situation would never have happened if Alburquerque were here.

I turn away abruptly.

David Bowie is singing "As the World Falls Down" and I'm getting a bizarre tingling feeling, which is either the Ghost of Fandoms Past seeping up from the vehicle deck, or the fact that I'm wearing high heels for the first time in years and they're cutting off my circulation.

_*twirls you and throws sparkles*_

As the pain sweeps through  
Makes no sense for you  
Every thrill has gone  
Wasn't too much fun at all  
But I'll be there for you-oo-oo  
As the world falls down __

Everything is noise and the press of bodies and sparkles. I run hard up against a body - a body with big hair and extremely tight pants. One gloved hand is caressing a crystal bauble in a rather suggestive fashion. Ghosts of Fandoms Past.

Jareth is here. He has a bauble with Alburqueque in it!

_Does Fraser see the bauble? Does he say, "Ray, there appears to be a camelid trapped in that bubble."_

"Fraser, I told you to stay away from the punch!" __

In the same moment, Jareth is in five places at once; smirking, quirking an eyebrow, laughing mockingly. The bauble hangs in the air, tauntingly close, before drifting out of reach. I chase it through the room and out onto the deck. As I do, the dress disintegrates into a pool of blue sequins, and the night breeze swirls it off the deck and into the ocean. I'm left in a pale blue silk slip. I throw the wig off and run my hands through my hair. I leave my shoes next to the Muster Station.

 

 

## PART 2 BY CHINA SHOP

I look up from a book of classic Fraser/Vecchio short stories. It's dark outside: evening and overcast, and I can feel a cool draught coming in under the door. In the distance there's a babble of music and laughter, and I realise I've been half-hearing it for a while, on the edge of my consciousness. The masquerade ball.

I lean my head back against the couch and deliberate about whether to scrape together the last of my energy and poke my head around the door of the ballroom to see what's going on. Maybe you're there. Maybe I should check it out. It's not like I'm getting any writing done--

I put my slippers on and go out onto the deck, where a damp wind's picked up. The music sounds somehow further away. I pull my fugly cardigan tighter around myself, push my hair out of my eyes, and peer up and down the deck.

In the shadow of a lifeboat I see two figures, one wearing a Stetson. They're not making out, though, and I drift inconspicuously closer so I can eavesdrop.

"--case you haven't noticed," Fraser says, sounding mildly indignant, "you're not Ray. Ray who is, at this very moment, still recovering from a trying adventure on the vehicle deck, and to whom I'm--"

The other figure -- who I deduce must be CallumRay -- leans in and tilts his head. "I'm partly Ray." He moves closer. "I'm Ray enough to give you what you need."

"That's just silly, Ray," Fraser snaps. He sounds flustered. "I mean, Callum."

"I know exactly what you mean." I see the glint of CallumRay's teeth in the light from the TV lounge.

"Apparently not," Fraser tells him. "I think this situation is in urgent need of a llama."

I ponder that, confused.

"I'm allergic to llamas," says CallumRay. My eyes have adjusted to the dark, and I can see him leaning seductively against the outer wall of the TV lounge, fiddling with a Zippo lighter. He leans very well, much much better than Jordan Catalano. Fraser is watching CallumRay's long fingers move restlessly over the silver metal, as though he can't tear his eyes away.

He clears his throat and tugs uncomfortably at his collar. "I don't mean an actual llama, of course," he explains, taking off his hat and holding it in front of him like a shield. "I'm talking about the Locale Longitude Alignment Modifying Animatronic."

"The L.L.A.M.A.?" CallumRay raises his eyebrows. "Isn't that M.I.A.? And what's that got to do with the price of North Sea Salmon?"

"Ah, well, you see, while the L.L.A.M.A. _is _a Locale Longitude Alignment Modifying Animatronic, it also has a secondary function, according to Diefenbaker." Fraser's using his lecturing voice. "That is, ah, Diefenbaker discovered it while discussing your-- predicament-- with the ship's doctor."__

"Whoa, the ship's doctor speaks wolf? You're kidding me."

"That's not important, Ra-- Callum. What's important is that the L.L.A.M.A. is also an A.L.P.A.C.A. -- an Automated Logical Preventer of Actor/Character Assimilation." He keeps talking like that for a while, but I'm distracted.

Huh, I think. The llama is multi-purpose. Perhaps it's also a Lowbrow Literary All-purpose Muse Animatronic. Perhaps it'd get my writing back on track. I'm about to butt into Fraser and Callum's conversation when I see movement in my peripheral vision.

A silver bauble is floating through the air, further along the deck, and you're following it as though hypnotised. It looks like you're only wearing a petticoat. You must be freezing! I step toward you and hiss, "Mergatrude!" but you don't seem to hear. You walk steadily after the bauble.

The bauble drifts toward the entrance to the vehicle deck and vanishes down the stairs. There's a chain across the top of the stairs, but you climb right over it without hesitation.

I abandon discretion and yell, "MERGATRUDE!"

I start to run, but I'm too far away. You vanish into the dark.

I stumble to a despairing halt and hang my head a minute. Then I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and follow you. You can't have gotten far, after all. I run along the deck and clamber over the chain (much more difficult than you made it look; I nearly land on my face), and then I stand at the top of the stairs and stare into the gloom below until my eyes start to hurt. I can't see anything except geometric patterns like when you close your eyes and press on your eyelids. I bite my lip.

You and I have had long discussions about what's down there: a mini, an old BMW, a VW sedan, a Nissan Pulsar; the ghosts of fandoms past; werewolf Callum and Hugh, and maybe Oz. It's terrifying to contemplate, and I've been putting off rescuing the llama as long as I can, trying to convince you that's she's not missing, I've just internalised her. But I can't avoid the vehicle deck any longer. It's not just Albuquerque anymore. You're down there, apparently under some kind of spell, and I have to stop you before you vanish completely.

I grip the handrail with my sweaty hand and move down a step, and then wait to see if anything bad happens. It doesn't.

Cautiously, step by step, I descend until I run out of handrail. "Mergatrude?" I call in a low voice from what I assume is the bottom step. "Are you there? Is anyone? Hello? Albuquerque?"

The darkness is thick and impenetrable, and I curse myself for not having a torch, but I really didn't intend to come down here now. Not like this. I thought we'd venture down together, maybe with Fraser and Ray for backup.

I take myself in hand. This is no time to be a fraidy-cat. I'm the narrator here, after all, and if I have to, I can force the plot (at least in theory) and get us to safety. I smooth my hair, pull my cardigan tight around me, and step onto the vehicle deck.

BOOOOOOOOOOM! A huge orange fireball fills my vision, rolling toward me like billowing silk. The sudden heat is incredible! I don't even have time to worry about the integrity of the ship -- I just shriek and dive sideways into the small damp nook between the stairs and the wall, and I lie there shaking as unidentifiable substances seep into my clothing. My face feels hot and tight, and I'm pretty sure my eyebrows are singed. "Fuck," I mutter to myself. "What was that?! It's not Buffy TVS!" My mind whirls like a roulette wheel, unable to settle on a logical explanation. There was a bazuka in Buffy season 2, sure, but nothing like that. Still-- Ghosts of fandoms past. " _Probably _not Buffy," I hedge.__

I wrack my brains to think of another ex-fandom with explosions in, but I can't. Since a brief flirtation with BTVS, Due South's been pretty much my only fandom. I wonder if you had a dalliance with the A-team that you never told me about, because I don't remember any fireball explosions in Labyrinth.

The fireball has collapsed in on itself, leaving a vivid after-image on my retinas, and I drag myself to my feet still trying to puzzle it out. My hair is extra crispy and my clothes damp and greasy and gross, but I'm otherwise unharmed.

Then someone starts shooting.

I've never heard gunshots in a confined space before. I had no idea they'd be so mind-numbingly loud. I duck down behind the stairwell again. I can see a flickering orange light from somewhere now that my vision's almost cleared -- perhaps it's the remains of the explosion -- and in that eerie glow, I make out a tall figure running toward me. Its face isn't human, and it has long white hair.

"Oh fuck," I say sincerely, and try to scramble up the stairs back to the passenger deck and safety, but it's upon me. Its sharp sinewy hand closes about my neck, nails digging in, and it hoists me effortlessly off my feet so that I dangle there, choking and clawing at its grip. Bullets ping and clatter off the stair handrail and the wall next to me. "Fuuuck," I rasp indignantly. I'm fighting for air, but too outraged to save my breath.

My captor growls something I can't make out, and brandishes me like a rag doll. My legs knock together limply. Off to the right there's a shout, and the gunfire stops.

I may not be the softest centered chocolate in the box, but even I know that Buffy isn't going to save me from this monster. No, this is a job for--

"Is it human? Because for all we know, the Wraith have started carrying decoys to distract us while they--"

"I'm human," I gasp, "and I'm not going to watch your show, even if you save my life."

The Wraith growls and waves me around a bit. The edges of my vision start to blur.

"I think she's human," says a laconic voice.

Oh god. Why me? A thousand thousand fangirls out there who'd give their right nipple for the chance to get rescued by these guys, and instead they find me (and hopefully Mergatrude).

They come into view, and yep, experimental dark-haired guy and arrogant pudgy Canadian scientist.

"Don't move," Sheppard says, like I have a choice, and quick as lightning he aims a big gun at me.

I flinch involuntarily -- I've seen how many of their coworkers bite it -- but when he pulls the trigger, the barrel jams and nothing happens. I want to make a comment about how size clearly isn't everything, but I'm too light-headed to force the words out.

The Wraith roars triumphantly.

"That does it," says McKay. "We're going to have to resort to second level diversionary tactics." And he grabs the gun from Sheppard's hands, drops it on the ground with a clang, buries his hands in Sheppard's hair, and kisses him.

I close my eyes. When I dare to look up, the Wraith has closed its eyes, too. I don't let myself stop to think; I punch it in the neck as hard as I can.

It roars and drops me, and I roll into the shadows. Without breaking the kiss, Sheppard grabs a grenade from his belt, pulls the pin, and lobs it neatly into the Wraith's mouth.

The Wraith explodes, showering me with sizzling goo, which makes me moan in disgust and revulsion.

McKay is moaning too. I wipe my face so that I can safely roll my eyes without getting Wraith slime in them. Then I climb to my feet and go over to them. They don't notice. I clear my throat. _Finally _they stop kissing. Sheppard's all red in the face, and McKay looks revoltingly pleased with himself. I sigh at their dazed expressions and stare off into the darkness until they've got it together.__

"Hey, wait a minute," says McKay after a minute.

"Who?" asks Sheppard, but McKay ignores him.

"Why didn't it feed off you?" McKay asks me. He turns to Sheppard. "Why didn't it feed off her? She seems human -- there must be something about her. You have to come back to the lab," he says, turning back to me. "I need to study your brain."

"Uh-uh," I say, backing away. "I'm not your lab rat."

Sheppard blinks at me, then grins. "There's your answer, McKay," he says.

McKay stares at him. I can see his brain whirring like a windup mouse. Finally his eyes widen. "She's immune?"

Sheppard nods.

"She's immune," Rodney repeats. "How? Why? I have to study this! Imagine the gene therapy! We'll be invulnerable!"

Sheppard grabs his arms and shakes him a little. "Think, McKay! If you make us all immune, our communications systems will break down."

"We'll go off the air," says McKay, catching on instantly. "Oh my god, you're right! But I still have to study this: if I manipulate the RNA I'm sure I can intervene the guadaloupe response and develop partial phosphorescent artichokes." (Possibly I mishear some of the technobabble.) He's positively glowing with scientific fervor, his eyes fixed distractedly on Sheppard's face. "I'm a genius! I could kiss you!"

I pre-empt this by interrupting. "Have you seen a blonde woman, so high, name of Mergatrude? Or a llama?" I frown, suddenly worried. "I don't know if Mergatrude's immune system is as robust as mine. She definitely _reads _more SGA than I do--"__

Sheppard gets out a scanner thing and searches for signs of life. He shows me the little screen, which is covered with multi-color moving dots.

I shiver.

Rodney looks over my shoulder. "This place is crawling with life forms," he says.

"Any more Wraith?" I ask, since I don't know what the colors mean, if anything.

Sheppard shakes his head. "That one stowed away on our puddlejumper." He gestures behind him, and a little spaceship appears out of the gloom. "It didn't bring any friends."

For a second I whole-heartedly wish the puddlejumper was Serenity. I could use some Joss banter right now. Then I shake myself. "Okay then," I say. "I'd better go find her."

Sheppard hands me a pistol. "Take care," he says with a casual wave goodbye.

"Can't I at least take a saliva sample?" Rodney whines, "so I can figure out the extent of your immunity--" Blah blah blah. I let him take a throat swab, and then step determinedly into the shadows, holding both my breath and my gun.

 

* * * * *

 

I feel my way through the dark, past three Rivs and a dozen General Lees, and yes, my old mini that died in 1996 just before I moved house. I pat the mini, spare it a moment's fond remembrance, then move on. I can hear scuffles in the dark. A voice rings out.

"Fuck that, cuntface! You owe me!"

"Bitch! Do it!"

I blink. Wow. That has to be Joe and Billy, and I really don't know if I want to meet them. I'm used to Callum and Hugh from the passenger decks, and they're fun (if occasionally fierce and/or aloof), but Joe and Billy are a whole different kettle of worms. Plus I have no idea what they're doing and I don't want to walk in on anything. I blush at the thought, and lick my suddenly dry lips. (Presumably Albuquerque the llama's around here somewhere, but she doesn't seem to be active; once I realise that, a dread grips me that the llama's permanently out of commission, you'll blame me and we'll never speak again, and the cruiseliner will spiral into chaos without the L.L.A.M.A.'s moderating influence.) I grip my weapon and, since I don't know what else to do, turn the corner of what I now recognise as Hard Core Logo's touring van. There's a tree and a patch of daylight, and Joe and Billy are sprawled at the base of it, fully dressed, shooting up.

Okay, I guess it could be worse. But it really could be a lot lot better.

I cough. "Uh, excuse me?"

"Oh Christ!" Joe looks up, scowling. "It's a fucking geek. What the hell do you want?"

I try to ignore the fact that my clothes completely justify his assessment of me, and give him an apologetic smile. It doesn't help. I turn my attention to Billy instead, who flashes me a knee-weakening grin. "Hey."

"Um." I hesitate. Maybe this isn't such a great idea. But I don't have a better one, so-- "Have you guys seen a blonde woman?"

Billy shakes his head. Joe turns his attention back to the needle.

"Or a llama?" I add.

They exchange quick glances. "Nope," says Joe.

"A llama down here?" asks Billy, lightly. "You're kidding. What would a llama be doing down here?"

I squint at him suspiciously. He winks. I quickly figure out that he's one person I'm definitely not immune to.

Joe empties a syringe into his arm, and then flops on the ground, head in Billy's lap, and stares up at the-- oh, huh, there are stars. Freaky vehicle deck! Billy pats Joe's hair, and his expression turns briefly solemn. "Haven't seen it in a couple of weeks. Last time was over that way." He jerks his thumb off to the right.

"Thanks," I say. There's a rusted-out car in the way, so I can't just go in the direction he's pointing. I have to step into their clearing and go right past them to get there. Joe seems to be stoned off his gourd so I figure it's no big deal, but Billy makes a weird noise and then--

Joe's stomach grumbles really loud--

\--and they both twitch oddly, and--

\--hair sprouts in quick-growing clumps on the backs of Billy's hands. Joe's face contorts and lengthens into a muzzle. I freeze, not knowing what the hell to do. If I run, they'll catch me. If I stay still, they've already caught me or as good as. I'm going to be dog food in the next few minutes if I don't do something, but I don't want to hurt them. It's JOE and BILLY! OTP! I'm just about to fling myself into the nearest car and lock the doors when I hear gunfire behind me, and Sheppard and McKay burst onto the scene, Sheppard's weapons blazing.

"Stop!" I shout, waving my arms. "Don't hurt them!"

The werewolf transformations are nearly complete, and a few seconds later Joe and Billy just look like big shaggy fierce wild vicious hungry salivating possibly hallucinating dogs.

"Shoot!" says Rodney. "What does it take to convince you they're dangerous? Does one of us have to sustain a mortal injury? Because if so, count me out. Trust me, Colonel, I'm a scientist with a phenomenal IQ: I can tell when a wild animal wants to kill me!"

Luckily Sheppard seems pretty practiced at tuning him out, and he hears what I said. He shoves his gun into his holster and grabs a different weapon from his thigh holster. "Tranq gun," he tells me. "Get out of the way."

I don't know if I trust him but, given my other choice is to get torn to shreds by high and hungry werewolves, I duck and cover. The tranq gun makes two little pinging noises, Joe and Billy snarl angrily and start across the floor toward the SGA guys, but after a couple of steps they falter, then slump on the floor.

"Thanks," I reluctantly tell McKay and Sheppard. McKay shrugs with obviously fake modesty and I roll my eyes and turn away. "See you round," I say.

Behind me, McKay starts rabbiting on about resistance and immunity again, and I sigh and let him take some blood, and then say, "Look, I have to go rescue my friend, okay? Leave me alone!"

 

* * * * *

 

Through pure good fortune I find you not far away, and you don't really need rescuing. You're sitting in Buddy French's house, trying to talk Dan Jarvis out of killing himself. Dan's sitting on the Wobbly Chair o' Doom, and you're crouched down next to him, twisting the rope in your hands and saying earnestly, "--and okay, so maybe Duck's a bit creepy stalkery, but he's gay and _hot _! Isn't that enough for you?"__

You're wearing a long winter coat and a scarf -- I don't know if they're Gray Wellman's or from one of the Doctor Whos, but they're not out of place. It's freezing in here. "Hey, you!" I say from the doorway. "There you are!"

You look up, startled. "Hi!"

We grin at each other for a moment, rift forgotten, and then I frown at Dan. "Are you okay?"

He nods lugubriously, reminding me of Puddleglum.

You stand up, and we step into the hallway to discuss him in whispers. "Come on! I'm here now -- we have to go and find the llama!"

"We can't just leave Dan alone," you say, fondly exasperated.

"Well, we can't stay with him. I'm worried about Albuquerque: she doesn't seem to be functioning at all. Who can we leave him with?"

"Are Callum and Hugh around?"

"Uh, not that I've seen. Just Joe and Billy. And they're, uh, sleeping." I take you a few steps along the hall, away from the way I came in. I don't mention the werewolf thing: lycanthropy was one of the reasons you were scared to come down here in the first place. "What about other Wilby people? Is Buddy around? Ooh, Dan/Buddy! That'd be--" I break off at your glare. "--adultery," I finish meekly.

"Exactly. How about Emily?"

"Umm, if you think she'd be interested in--" I nod my head at the doorway, through which I can still see Mopey Dan slumped in the rickety chair.

"Not like that!" you hiss.

"No, I know," I say hastily. "Ewwww. I mean, even hanging-- uh, spending time with him."

"Fair point. He's not exactly a bundle of laughs. We'll have to take him with us."

I whine. "No, really? Nooo!" (I notice that I'm failing at decent human empathy, and this makes me a little sad and irritable.)

"At least until we can find someone else to keep an eye on him," you say firmly.

"Isn't Duck around?"

You shake your head. "That's the weird thing. No sign of him."

"This is our vehicle deck experience," I grumble. "No CKR characters."

"I thought you saw Joe and Billy."

I nod, grudgingly. "I guess I did." A thought strikes me. "God, I hope we're not just going to run into the fucked up ones, because some of them are _well _fucked up!"__

You bite your lip, and then shrug. "Well, either way we have to find Albuquerque, so we'd better get moving." You go back into the bare living room. "Cheer up, Dan. You're coming with us."

He looks up mournfully, then puts on his coat. I try to explain that this is the cruiseliner: there is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay here and he doesn't have to off himself. He doesn't seem to hear me, though, so I pat him on the shoulder. "It'll be okay once we've found the llama," I tell him, nonsensically. Or maybe not nonsensically. Maybe Albuquerque's also an eLectronic Life-Affirming Mood Alterer. Who knows? Either way, llama snuggles never go amiss.

We're standing on the front porch ~~arguing~~ discussing which way to go next when the SGA boys turn up again. At least this time they're not shooting at anything.

"Any ancient technology here?" Sheppard asks.

Your eyes get big and round, and I can see dozens questions about to spill out of you, so I hastily say, "There's a very old chair inside," and then bustle you and Dan away. After six steps I stop and grab your arm. "We could leave Dan with them!"

You stop. "Hmm?"

"Maybe he'd learn something," I say, deliberately vaguely. Actually, I can't imagine what kind of influence the SGA guys' wacky hijinks would have on Dan Jarvis, but at least they wouldn't let him commit suicide. Probably. Unless they were distracted.

We head down to Iggy's instead and leave him under Sandra's watchful eye, taking the opportunity to eat some pie and have a soy hot chocolate each. Luckily Sandra's amused rather than offended that our payment is in Antipodean money.

 

* * * * *

 

We're trudging away from Wilby, along what seems to be a generic deserted country road. It's night. "Do you think this is still the vehicle deck?" I ask.

"In some sense," you say, rewrapping your scarf. It starts to rain.

"Pity we can't find ourselves a bloody vehicle, then," I mutter.

There's the swoosh of tires on wet tarmac behind us and a car drives up next to us, headlights illuminating the rain and the looming ominous trees on either side of the road. I hear windscreen wipers.

The driver winds down the window. "It's not safe out here," he says.

The young man in the passenger seat leans across. "You two ladies need a ride?"

I imagine collapsing onto the back seat of a warm dry car, letting someone else drive, making small-talk about the weather and where we're going. But before I can say Yes or even ask their names, you tug me aside, say, "No thanks," and wave them on.

I stare forlornly at the taillights receding into the dark. "We could've got a ride," I whine. "And company. And someone else to decide things."

You take my shoulders and look at me earnestly in the faint light. "Stay away from the Impala."

"Oh." I slump a little. "Yeah. Good call." My defences are low. We have to find somewhere safe to rest, but there's nothing here and the rain is like needles of ice. We should've stayed at Iggy's. I grit my teeth and straighten up again. "Come on. Albuquerque can't be far off."

 

* * * * *

 

Three hours later my feet are dragging. So tired! We turn a corner and find ourselves most definitely back on the vehicle deck. "Thank god! No more walking!" I cry, and I hobble over to the GTO.

"Ray will kill us if we damage it," you object, but you get in the passenger side.

"I'm not going to damage it," I say, starting her up, and pulling out of the parking space. "I know how to drive this thing! Where are the headlights--?"

The car lurches, and there's a gut-wrenching scraping sound.

"Uh, oops." I brake, find the headlight switch, back away from the Riv I just pranged, and drive off--

\--straight into an airlock. A heavy steel(?) door closes behind us, and we get out of the car, exchanging glances. We're in a big hangar full of small spaceships with mechanic type people working on them. Everyone ignores us and our gleaming, slightly beat-up Goat.

Then a puddlejumper lands next to us, and McKay and Sheppard get out. Everyone ignores them too.

"God! They keep popping up everywhere!" I make shooing motions. "Go away!"

You examine them critically. "They're not quite--" You twirl a hand in the air. "--right."

"I've only seen one episode!" I say, exasperated.

"No, I know."

"And I was in a hurry to rescue you--"

"It's okay," you say soothingly. "I didn't mean it as, like, a criticism."

I fold my arms. "Fine. They're all wrong. Let me explain how much I really don't care right now."

You pause in the middle of rewinding your scarf (again), and squint at me, concerned. "How close did you get to them, exactly?"

"Exactly?" I roll my eyes. "Do you want Imperial or metric measurements? Because I forgot to pack my tape measure."

Your mouth falls open.

"What? What?!" I wave my hands impatiently. " _What?? _"__

"I think you've caught faux!Rodney," you say, more stunned than worried.

"Oh, god, no!" But there's something-- you might be right. "We have _got _to find that llama!"__

"I thought you were immune to SGA," you murmur.

I wave my hands dismissively this time. "Can we talk about this _after _I've--" I gasp. I nearly said _saved the world again? _Oh shit. I'm immune! I'm immune, I'm immune, I'm _supposed _to be immune! "Come on," I say grimly.______

I ignore McKay and Sheppard, and lead the way to a battleship gray corridor. You stop, a frown of concentration on your face, and then head off down a passage to the left. I listen hard and, yeah, I can hear faint bleating too. I follow.

Soon we come to a safety-glass window and peer through. A blonde woman with a cane is watching while two uniformed officers hold Albuquerque's head in a bucket of water. Poor wet struggling llama!

"Starbuck," you say.

"No kidding."

"I don't like her."

Starbuck gestures, and the uniforms let Albuquerque stand up, her head dripping.

"Me neither." Albuquerque's eyes are bloodshot and she looks half-wild, but I already feel less like a dorky misunderstood poorly rendered genius, so a wave of misplaced generosity hits me. "Maybe she's just doing her job--"

I glance at you. You look like you're going to cry. "Some job description," you snort, trying to sound indignant but just sounding miserable. "Torment random camelids."

"I'm sure she thinks Albuquerque's a cylon," I say, trying to be fair.

"But she's not," you point out. "She's alive!"

"Yeah. Do you think Starbuck will listen to reason?"

We both turn back to the window, just as Starbuck signals the uniforms and they start beating Albuquerque's head against the table. When they stop, Starbuck says, "You're just a furry toaster. You can't feel anything."

The llama's bleeding from the side of her head. Her coat is matted and torn.

"No," I tell you. "I don't think Starbuck's going to listen to us at all."

You've gone pale, but you point through the window. "Look!"

I follow your gaze. Albuquerque's hide is lacerated, and glowing through the sodden clumps of llama wool, there's a weird glow, gold and red and green, like light through stained glass. "What is it?" I ask.

"I think it's a--"

"Whoa," says McKay, appearing suddenly at my side. "It's a ZPM."

"A what now?" I glare at him. "Are you following me?"

"Zero Point Module," you murmur to me. "They're like super batteries."

"Huh." I look at the llama again. Given all her powers, that makes a certain amount of sense.

"We need that," says McKay. "If we're ever to stand a chance against the Wraith, we need that ZPM! The things I could do!" There's a greedy light in his eye that I don't like the look of.

"Listen, buster. I gave you saliva and a blood sample. You are _not _getting my llama."__

" _My _llama," you correct me.__

"Yeah." I glare at Rodney, and we all start to argue bitterly. Rodney explains the ZPM could protect the city of Atlantis for hundreds of years. I don't care -- it's powering the llama, and quite possibly the whole cruiseliner, not to mention the PG-13 shield and the Automated Logical Preventer of Actor/Character Assimilation.

"In the greater scheme of things, the City of Atlantis is far more important than this puny boat. We're making ground-breaking scientific discoveries every day! We're writing history! I--"

"I don't care!" I shout. "Atlantis is just as fictional as the cruiseliner, so relative importance is entirely subjective, and has _nothing _to do with size. You hear me? _Size doesn't matter! _You may be the fandom that ate fandom, but that doesn't make you entitled to every single energy source in the known multiverse!"____

You try to break up the fight, but we're both furious and don't listen. Then Sheppard runs up, chased by a bunch of soldiers.

"Jeez, you guys are nothing but trouble," I grumble, rudely ignoring the fact that they saved me from the Wraith and werewolves only a couple of thousand words ago.

"Well, you're just selfish," Rodney says. Which makes me want to kick him in the head.

"I see the love that binds all living things together," says Leoben coming up behind you in his green shirt of religious freakiness.

I jump and feel hotly embarrassed for my obvious display of Not Loving All Living Things or Being Noble and Zen. "Um, is he evil?"

"I don't know," you say. "Dammit! I should've watched more BSG!"

Leoben smiles creepily.

"I've only seen _Flesh and Bones _." I back away a little. "Hey, Sheppard, you deal with this one, okay? We have a llama to rescue."__

"What do you mean, 'deal with'?" asks Sheppard warily.

"Well, he's a cylon. Maybe he's powered by a ZPM, too," I hazard. "And, you know, SGA could really use a Callum character. Take him. Do experiments. He's pretty much immortal. Plus, he's all existential and weird."

Sheppard looks vaguely interested, which makes McKay come over all possessive, but the three of them eventually get escorted back to the puddlejumper leaving you and me watching the apparently oblivious Starbuck and our poor battered Albuquerque.

"We have to do something!" you say.

"I know!" I feel so guilty for having left Albuquerque down here so long, alone and defenceless even if she is a super-powerful battery. "Okay, here's what we'll do." I pull the gun Sheppard gave me out of the back waistband of my jeans, figure out the safety, and look at you. "Ready?"

You nod. We storm the door of the interrogation room. I fire a couple of shots but not actually _at _people, and when I shoot one of the guards in the leg, it's completely by accident and I'm horrified. It gets us into the room, though. I point the gun at Starbuck.__

Albuquerque hums worriedly.

"Let the camelid go," you say, fiercely.

Starbuck stands up, and gestures to the uniformed soldiers who are holding Albuquerque down. They drop the llama, and within seconds they have us cuffed and restrained. Starbuck's holding my gun. A lot of use that did me. Perhaps I need some kind of training if I'm going to carry a weapon.

"Put them out the airlock," says the President, appearing in the doorway. "We have all the intelligence we need."

"They weren't adding much, anyway," says Starbuck, drily.

I ignore her, because she's right. "Please," I say to the President, "can't we just leave the way we came?" But she tells us we're a security threat, and turns and leaves. You and I and Albuquerque are escorted to the airlock.

You hug Albuquerque, ignoring the fact you're getting bloodstains on your scarf.

"What are we going to do?" I wail. "Is it vehicle deck out there, or just space?"

"I don't care," you say, your voice muffled by damp llama fur.

"Well, don't electrocute yourself on the ZPM thingy, okay?" I tell you. "Just in case we do survive this." I rub the back of my head. "Man. I'm so tired. Maybe we _should _die: we could sleep all day and haunt the cruiseliner by night, and no more life threatening situations or annoying SGA interludes--" My voice wobbles unconvincingly.__

You sob against Albuquerque's neck. I guess you're not really resigned to getting kicked off the mortal coil, either. I try to think of other fandoms, other characters who could save us. "Where's Clark Kent when you need him?" I sigh.

An electronic voice starts to count down from ten. When it gets to zero, the doors will open and we'll be sucked out into probably-just-space. Shit.

"--nine, eight--"

"Or Spike? Or Zaphod Beeblebrox? Or Ludo?" I wail. I look around desperately, searching for an idea. What would Fraser do?

You raise your head. "Ludo?"

"From Labyrinth," I explain, trying to pry a fire extinguisher off the wall, with no idea what I'll do with it if I succeed.

You nod impatiently and stand up, and start rummaging in the pockets of your coat.

"--six, five--

"What is it? Have you got a Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy? An electronic thumb?"

You pull out a crytal ball.

I shake my head. "I don't know if I can stomach seeing our futures right now." I wince at the thought.

"--four, three--" says the electronic voice steadily.

You look at me. "Worth a crack, isn't it?" And you hurl the crystal bauble at the wall. It shatters on the floor.

"--two--"

The world splinters and cracks. Huge shards of reality slice down through the air. The llama hums in alarm as we tumble and fall through blackness and emptiness, and the smell of burned gasoline. I tumble head over heels, and manage to grab your hand as we fall. You have the llama by the tail. The three of us plummet, wind tugging at our clothes, and then land with two _oof _s and an indignant bleat on wooden decking. My head hurts. I lay there, refusing to open my eyes. If we've landed in Atlantis, I quit.__

You let go of my hand, and shift. After a moment you say, "C Deck," in a weak voice, and then slump back on the wood.

"Thank god," I murmur, and fall instantly asleep.

 

* * * * *

 

The first thing I hear when I wake up is someone saying, "Oh dear, you're looking rather worse for the wear, aren't you? Don't worry: we'll have you back on your feet in a jiffy."

I blink my eyes open. Turnbull's talking to the llama, rubbing the unhurt bits of her head and playing with her ears. She seems happy and grateful for the attention, and not in too much pain. I guess either most of her wounds are superficial or her animatronic nervous system isn't very advanced. I reach out and pat her side, and then Fraser turns up with a jar of ointment, which he starts dabbing on her wounds with a cotton bud.

"She's awake!" says Ray, and I look over my shoulder and see the relief on his face before I realise that we're in the TV lounge now, and that you're sitting up with a blanket over your knees, and your hands wrapped around a cup of herbal tea. You're keeping a possessively attentive eye on Albuquerque.

Bob's standing by the window. He gives us a stiff nod, and says, "Good work, men. Er, officers. Er, women, that is. You got your llama! The RCMP can't ask for more than that, and it may be a hard road, but a good fright builds character, you know. Why I remember the time--"

He gets a dreamy look on his face and starts reminiscing about Bunty MacFadden who lost his way during the Iditarod of 1976.

Fraser shakes his head in fond exasperation, and gently turns the llama's head so he can tend to the lacerations on her neck.

Ray offers me a bowl of chicken soup. "You got a licence for that firearm?" he asks kindly. "Because if not, you know Fraser's going to make me confiscate it." He winks at me.

"It's all yours," I tell him, and hand the gun over, grateful to be rid of it. Ray settles it into his empty shoulder holster.

The soup is cream of chicken -- delicious! -- and when I say so, Turnbull blushes and waves that aside.

Oh, it's so good to be back! I scramble up from the row of chairs I'm lying on, and sit beside you, sneaking some of your blanket, and watch as everyone fusses around, making the llama comfortable and welcoming us home.

Callum and Hugh are sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor in front of us, watching a televised hockey game with the sound off. During a break in the game, they jibe each other easily, and then turn around to join in the general conversation.

"So I presume now that the L.L.A.M.A. is back in our midst, things will return to normal," says Fraser, shooting a meaningful look at Callum, who has the grace to look a little ashamed.

"It wasn't your fault," you tell Callum, quietly. "You were saving Ray from having to cheat on Fraser -- at least, that's what we thought was going to happen. How were you to know that it'd make you merge like that?"

"No harm, no foul, eh?" Callum replies, and when he smiles at you, it's friendly and there's none of that sparkly heat that embarrassed you so.

Your shoulders relax a little, and you grin at him. "So long as you don't mind if we keep fangirling you shamelessly," you tease him, and Hugh rolls his eyes, slings his arm around Callum's shoulder, and draws his attention back to the resumed hockey.

I lean against you a little because even though the rift was stupid and not really based on anything, it was still unsettling. "All good?" I ask.

You look around at everyone -- at the llama, who's now neatly bandaged and feeding on a generous plate of homemade cheesecake; at Fraser and Ray, who are taking a moment out in the corner of the room to canoodle in a sweetly PG-rated kind of way; at Turnbull, who is balancing a tray of dirty dishes as he negotiates walking through the too-small doorway and who miraculously makes it without dropping the tray -- and you smile happily. "All good."

And it is.


End file.
